


You Pull Me Out of Line (Make Me Beg and Make Me Chase)

by sexualthorientation (sexyscholar)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ancient Rome, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light BDSM, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My (appallingly late) Thorki Secret Santa Gift for <a href="http://juukai.tumblr.com">juukai</a>:</p><p>Prompt:</p><p><i>Loki in chains is also always good. Whether it’s the fan-favorite jotun war prize!loki or some sort of gift given to thor for his transgressions or whatever. all good.</i> </p><p>Thor, a Roman general in the Emperor's army, becomes infatuated with Loki, a young pleasure slave. Smut ensues. Naturally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Pull Me Out of Line (Make Me Beg and Make Me Chase)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [You Pull Me Out of Line (Make Me Beg and Make Me Chase)：云谁之思](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263848) by [Maryandmathew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maryandmathew/pseuds/Maryandmathew)



> Note: Thor is 33 and Loki is 17. Roman men liked their paramours young (between 12 - 20, roughly). And also because I dig that sort of thing.

Thor storms down the narrow footway from the atrium, clouds of dry earth billowing around his heavy feet. "Balder! _Boy!_ " He strips off his baldric and belt, throwing them to the floor - they make a hard, satisfying clatter - then tugs hard (but in the end, uselessly) at the clasps that fasten his decorative mailed armor. He gives one last pull before he finally concedes defeat. Again.

The thought of his loss in the atrium - before his men, before his _emperor_ \- only stokes Thor's anger and he yells for the attendant again. "Balder!" Spittle sprays from his lips on the popping consonant. "By Mars, do not make me call for you again!"

The apodyterium _,_ normally bustling with the company of other men -- statesmen, high nobles, soldiers -- is oddly silent, save for the echo of running water coming from the baths deeper within.

"Balder!"

"I am here, my lord."

The words are soft and almost lost amidst the echo of Thor's raw shouting. He spins on his heel to find, not Balder - his normal attendant - but a coltish, black-haired youth standing within the chamber. He is vaguely familiar, but Thor cannot place why.

"Who are you? Where is Balder?"

"Please pardon, my lord; I do not know. I was sent to tend to you in his stead." He scoops into a clay pot, pulls of a handful of pumice and ash, and dumps it into a small bowl. "I shall prepare you for the baths."

Thor frowns. The capsarii are notorious for thievery and he, in his present mood, is not especially forgiving. But, he most urgently wishes to soak away his stresses in the bath beyond. He grunts his acceptance and takes a seat on a nearby bench.

"Well?" Thor prompts when the boy doesn't move.

The youth gives a curt nod and approaches Thor, bringing with him the bowl of mixed ash and a bottle of olive oil. He kneels to the stone pavers at Thor's feet, then gestures to his massive arms. "If you would, my lord," he says, and Thor raises them.

He holds them out from his body while the boy goes to work on undoing the leather straps and buckles of Thor's breastplate. Thor can feel the boy's cool, slick fingers against his chest as they slip under the armor.

"I have never seen you here before," Thor says. "Who are you?"

"Loki," the youth answers simply, never taking his eyes from his task.

Thor works the name, silently, over his tongue. _Lo-ki_. He lifts the boy's chin with a blood-smeared finger. "Where do you come from?"

From here, he has a better view of the boy's face, and Thor finds himself having to swallow down a dryness in his throat. Loki is _striking;_ his heart-shaped face still has some of the soft roundness of prepubescence, but sharpish lines defining the high cheekbones are beginning to show through.

Loki lightly jerks his head away. "Nowhere of import, my lord."

Thor, as a general in the emperor's army, could punish the boy for his impudence. But he's tired, so he chooses to let it lie, offering nothing more than a noncommittal 'hmm.' Truly, it doesn’t matter where the boy comes from, he tells himself. As long as he does as he’s told.

When Loki finishes with its fitments, he pulls off the armor, leaning in slightly as he moves to pull it over Thor's head and sweaty, wheat-colored hair.

Thor stands again and shucks off his tunic and undergarment, letting them fall. The tunic catches the side of Loki's head before it hits the ground -- the boy looks up at him momentarily, but aside from a slight rise of one eyebrow, does nothing.

Instead, he reaches for Thor's ankle and unties the leather straps of one sandal, then the other. His fingers are slick, and they make flesh-colored lines over Thor's dusty feet as he goes. Loki drives his hands into the bowl of ashes, and smears Thor’s skin with it, taking special care to slough off the tiny specks of blood that have dried on the tops of his feet.

He continues upward, making slow work of spreading ash over the sweat and loose dirt from his body. Often, he dips a long-fingered hand into the bowl of oil and swirls the viscous liquid until a whirlpool twists within it. Loki is young -- Thor would wager seventeen at most -- but there is a dexterity, a deftness to his movements that is unusual for an adolescent.

Thor keeps his eyes on Loki as he works, cataloging what he sees. His eyes are blue -- or perhaps green, yes... green -- with long lashes, his hair black, falling past his shoulders in soft, messy waves.

Loki is more than striking. He's- beautiful.

His hands make their way up to the vee of Thor's thighs, making slow -- too slow -- circles near his matted pubic hair, and Thor peers back down to find the boy's eyes lingering over his crotch.

Thor has grown used to such attentions; since adolescence, he has been praised -- by women _and_ men -- not only for his muscled physique, but for the heavy cock- that now stirs- between his thighs.

"Find something to your liking, boy?" Thor asks, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I- nay," he answers, quickly.

"Then, pray, what is taking so long? The baths will have gone cold by the time _you_ finish."

It's not true and Thor knows it. The water in the caldarium will be hot for hours yet, but there's a strange little thrill that he derives from teasing him.

"My apologies, my lord."

After that, Loki picks up his pace, standing to coat Thor's sculpted stomach and chest with a thick layer of mixed powder. When Loki's fingers flit across one of Thor's nipples, it draws up small and tight, the skin around it pebbling.

Farther down, Thor's cock no longer merely stirs - it bobs with growing interest. The head of it nudges at the material of Loki's own tunic. _He must feel it_ , Thor thinks. He sees the boy's heaving chest and resists, barely, pushing a little closer to see if Loki is having a similar reaction.

A cursory swipe of his arms comes next, but Loki slows again when he reaches Thor's face. Both hands slick with oil, the boy presses them to Thor’s bloodied cheeks, over his nose, then against his eyes. Thor shuts them and allows Loki to use gentle pressure - odd, greenish circles of not-quite-light bloom behind his eyelids.

When Thor opens his eyes, Loki's face is aligned with his -- his bottom lip plump, a little chapped, and so very, very red. Thor is rather tempted to rub his thumb against them.

He goes over Thor’s entire frame once more with a strigil, scraping off the muck, and along with it, most of the blood and dirt (as well as much of his foul mood), and the preparatory cleanse is finished. "My lord is free to enter the baths now. Shall I anoint you?"

Thor nods. "Very well."

As Loki tips the vessel of oil, Thor raises his arms and takes hold of it as well, his large hands cover Loki's smaller ones, and they pour together. Rich oil sluices into Thor's tangled locks and funnels down the deep crease of his spine and backside.

Some of it splatters onto Loki, soaking into his tunic and revealing skin underneath; his nipples are dark, peaking hard beneath the ruined linen.

"You should be more careful," Thor says, leaning in by Loki’s reddening ear.

Loki's head bows slightly, but not enough that Thor misses the way his lashes sweep over the blush of his cheeks. "My lord should go while the baths are still hot.” He picks up Thor's tunic and loincloth, along with the rest of his belongings, and sets them on one of a series of small pegs carved on the chamber's walls. "I will guard your things."

"Aye. See that you do; if anything is missing when I return, I will come after you."

And with that, Thor leaves.

~

Once he's assured himself that he is out of Loki's sight, Thor's bravado starts to give way to unfiltered lust. His cock is painfully hard now, curved upward and slapping against his stomach with each quickening step.

Thankfully, as it has been in the other chambers, the bathing room is empty. Thor moves to the marble pool at the center of the room, ignoring the billows of steam that rise up from the surface of the water. He dips one bare foot, then the other, into the pool and wades in fully, hissing at the way the stinging heat of the water pinks his skin.

When he's fully seated, Thor's hand immediately goes to his length, grasping it tight and giving it long, wringing strokes from the root to the swollen head.

He tilts his head back against the tub's rim and shuts his eyes, conjuring an image of Loki -- on his back on the marble floor, twisting a thick nipple with one hand while the other works its way between open, creamy thighs to finger at the tiny pucker of his arse.

A blush spreads across those high cheeks as a finger pushes through, and Loki moans. His head twists to the side, his pretty face buried in those raven-black locks as he pushes his finger deeper still before adding another. And then, another.

"I am ready for you, my lord," dream-Loki tells him, his breath hitching beautifully. "Please... please come and fuck me."

And, in his mind, Thor does. The dream version of himself pushes his thick cock into Loki, fills him to the hilt, and _fucks_ so hard the floor threatens to crack beneath them. Loki never stops screaming for more, digging his short, sharp little nails into Thor's shoulders and drawing blood when he comes, his lithe body arching hard against Thor as ribbons of whitish seed splatter between their stomachs in hot streams. In the last moment, Loki gasps out Thor's name like a prayer.

It is that - the idea of Loki calling his true name - which sends Thor toppling over headlong into his climax. He lets out a long groan, hips bucking up, hard, into his working hand as seed fountains out of tip of his cock and spreads into the sloshing water in milky blobs.

After a few moments (filled with long pulls of air into his lungs and his muscles twitching with aftershocks), Thor pulls himself from the tub feeling tired and heavy. He gets to his feet and, slowly, makes his way back to the apodyterium.

"Loki," he calls out as he breaches the entryway, "fetch my things and-"

The words, whatever they were to be, die in his mouth. The boy is gone.

Thor tries twice more before another capsarii, a much older man, enters the chamber. Thor has seen this one in the baths before, but he has no recollection of his name. "You there!"

The man wastes no time seeing to Thor. "Yes, Lord Odinson?"

"Where is the other attendant?" he asks.

"I- other attendant, my lord?"

"There was someone else here -- a youth named Loki." Without thinking, Thor reaches out and grasps the old man's bicep. The muscles feel stringy under his papery skin. "Where is he?"

The man shakes his head, seemingly unaffected by Thor's grip. "I oversee all of the _capsarii_ here, my lord. I assure you, there is no Loki."

Thor is- disappointed, but he doesn't care to examine that too closely. "I see." He releases the man. "Fetch my things, then."

"Yes, my lord." The old man collects the lone set of garments on the wall, then dries and dresses Thor. There is no tension, no cheek. Everything is as it should be, and it's suddenly _all wrong_.

When the old man finishes, Thor adjusts his baldric on his shoulder. Something about it feels off, and he looks down at the decorated sash to discover three of its gems are missing.

Thor's brow knits. He rubs his thumb over the now-empty patches to find that they're oily. There are faint smudges of ash and a crumbled piece of pumice clinging to its weave.

He should be angry, but Thor cannot seem to muster anything but amusement. He smiles.

_Well met, little Loki._

~

After two days, Thor's wrist aches for how often he has pleasured himself to the thought of Loki.

After six days, the youth is a smoldering memory, slowly burning Thor at his edges. He keeps an eye out for his pretty face among the crowds in the marketplace and the baths, even trying his luck at a few of the pleasure houses, but his efforts bear no fruit.

After ten days, he stops looking.

~

"It promises to be a most glorious feast," Fandral tells Thor as they make their way through the city to the palace. "Wine overflowing, music abound, and _entertainment_ of all sorts." He waggles a blond eyebrow.

"In other words, you plan to become very drunk and sink your cock into as many willing holes as you can manage?"

Fandral laughs. "You know me too well! You know, you should consider doing the same -- our gregarious general has been far too subdued as of late."

"Have I?"

"Indeed, and it simply will not do. It is time to shrug off whatever is causing it, and this," Fandral gestures to the palace, "is the place in which to do it."

Thor looks ahead to the sprawling home, light flickers in its many windows and sounds of merriment are already floating into the air. He nods." Perhaps you are right."

Fandral claps Thor on the back. "Of course I'm right! When have I ever steered you wrong?" He pauses. "On second thought, do not answer that."

Thor laughs out loud and wraps his arm around Fandral's shoulders. "I think that is wise, old friend."

~

Fandral is not wrong; indeed, a most sumptuous spectacle plays out before them within the palace walls. Music thrums throughout the great hall, goblets overflow with honeyed and herbed wine, and the scents of rich food fill the air.

Then, of course, there is the entertainment. Dancers spin in vivid silks, magicians and soothsayers mystify even the most hardened cynics, writers and storytellers weave yarns of the gods and their neverending pursuits of love, knowledge, and power. In alcoves and dimmed corners, men lose themselves in the many pleasures of prostitutes.

Thor loses Fandral early into the festivities to two of them: a very willing set of twins - one male, one female - who promise a most intriguing evening. They invite Thor to join them, but he graciously refuses. He is content to listen to the bawdy stories and exaggerated war tales passed by those still around the table, and lose himself in his cups.

Fandral would insist that the night is not truly a success until his cock has been buried in a mouth, cunt or arse (or some combination of all of the above), but truly, Thor feels good: limitless drink and unassuming company can do wonders.

~

It is nature's call that finally forces Thor to pry himself from the table. He rises gingerly, so as to not upset his heavy bladder, and half-stumbles his way to the toilet. Once his bladder is seen to, he endeavors to get back to the dining hall. It proves to be more of a challenge then he could have anticipated.

While he was sitting, Thor merely felt relaxed and loose; now that he's standing and walking, however, the dizzying effects of the honeyed wine begin to take hold, and Thor cannot remember if he took a left or right to get where he is.

There is a good amount of lively chatter coming toward from his right; he guesses that it must be the way back to the dining hall, so he weaves toward it.

Instead, he finds himself in a far smaller room filled with noblemen. Torches are lit all around, the fires make light and heat - Thor notes that this room is considerably brighter and warmer than the dining hall had been.

A small platform is set in the center of the room -- it looks rather like a stage. Thor decides he is far too drunk for theater and he starts to shuffle back the way he came. As he pushes his way through the guests, a single word flits through the dense air and winds into his ear, stopping him cold.

_Loki._

He spins around to see quite a few of the men chattering excitedly and pointing their fingers toward the stage, toward the slip of a youth clad in only a loincloth, collared and bound in heavy chains, his head hung down. Standing with him is a balding, fat little man in deep blue robes. Thor blinks several times, willing his vision to focus as he makes his way to the front of the crowd.

He shakes his head, not sure he believes what is unfolding before him. It cannot be...but the boy lifts his head and- yes, _oh yes_...it is Loki, as pale, as beautiful, as tempting as he was that day in the baths.

"This one would make an exceptional pleasure slave. Educated in literature and music, proficient in storytelling, the healing arts...and," the little man pauses to lick his lips, " _entertaining_."

A lewd cheer swells from the crowd, and the bidding begins. The coins that spill from satchels and clink on the floor, the hurried movements of noblemen, the shouts of offers - all are muted to Thor as the realization of what is about to take place fully filters through. Loki- _his Loki,_ is about to be sold away from him, and- and that simply _cannot_ be.

Thor pushes through the clamoring sea of men until he finds himself at the foot of the platform. He slips off his baldric from his shoulder and clutches tight in his fist. "He is mine," he roars over the din, shoving the sash at the quaestor. "I am taking him."

The man's eyes widen at the sight of the precious stones sewn into the fabric. "My good sir, I’m pleased to see you so eager to participate in the auction -- but there are other noblemen who are equally as eager to place a bid-”

“I spoke nothing of bidding. I am _taking_ him.”

The bustle of buyers around him begins to quiet, save for a few murmurs of his name.

"Three of its stones have been taken,” he informs him, shaking the baldric in his pudgy face. “By him, in the baths ten days ago," Thor says. He looks to Loki.

"M-my lord," the quaestor stammers. "I am- are you certain?"

"You know who I am, yes?” Thor asks through clenched teeth, and the seller nods. "Do you doubt my word?”

The man's face pales considerably. "Of course not, my lord! I merely-"

"Then I am certain you will do what is necessary to see that I am compensated. Yes?"

"I- yes, of course," quaestor says finally. He reaches around his neck and pulls off a thin leather cord with a heavy-looking iron key. He moves over to Loki and grabs him roughly by his chin. “You have cost me a lot of money, little demon...but it will be worth it to wash my hands of you.” He runs a fat finger along the boy’s collar bone, and Loki recoils.

Something protective flares in Thor, and he quickly navigates the short, creaking steps to the platform. He snatches the key from the unsavory little panderer and slips the leather cord around his own neck, then walks over to Loki. The boy is dirty -- grime smudges his skin, and he reeks of urine. Thor runs his fingers over the collar around the boy’s neck, then slips his hand higher to cup the warm skin at the nape. “You belong to me now. Do you understand?”

Loki looks at up at him, his green eyes wild and shimmering. He licks at that soft bottom lip and, for a moment, Thor thinks he is going to speak. Instead, the boy twists against him, cocking his head a little and altering the angle of his mouth and- _bites him_ on the wrist.

Thor jerks back. “You little wretch! You’ll pay for that,” he tells him, rubbing at the offended skin.

Loki smiles broadly at him, running the tip of his tongue over his sharp, surprisingly white teeth.

~

Whether it be the night air, or carrying the boy hoisted over his shoulder when he begins to drag his feet and refuse to simply _come along,_ the pleasant stupor that Thor had drunk himself into has all but evaporated. Thankfully, his villa is already lit and warm when they arrive - a testament to the efficiency of his house servants.

"Frigga!"

An older woman enters, her slippered feet shuffle across the floor. "Yes, my lord?"

Thor grins. Originally his father's servant (and lover, Thor suspects), Frigga all but reared Thor after his own mother died in childbirth. He is no longer her lord, and has not been for many years, but Thor has long since stopped trying to correct her.

He lifts the boy from his shoulder, chains and all, and sets him down. "This is Loki.” Thor wrinkles his nose at the acrid scent of piss hovering around the boy. "Please see to it that he is cleaned, thoroughly, and brought to my bedchamber."

Frigga nods, then looks to Loki. A light smile graces her mouth, but she says nothing aside from, "Of course, my lord."

The boy glares at him but softens, a little, at the sight of Frigga. When she loops a thin arm with his, he softens a bit more. She leads him away, through the atrium and down the long corridor. Thor can hear her speaking to him.

It would be an oddly comforting sight, were it not for the cuffs around his wrists and ankles and the long iron chain that hangs behind Loki's back. He feels a pang of guilt in his gut.

"Frigga," he calls after them. "See to it that he eats as well."

~

A time later, Thor enters his bedchamber to find Loki already standing within. The boy is cleaner now, his pale skin a striking contrast to the rich deep red bedding and flowing draperies that adorn the room. His black hair has been combed and twisted into a thick plait that hangs over his shoulder. Frigga has also given him a clean loincloth, wrapped around his narrow hips and between his legs. There’s a faint but unmistakable scent of honeysuckle in the air.

"Much better,” says Thor. “Did you eat?"

Loki nods.

“Good.” Thor begins to pace. Even now, something unnerves him about the boy, and he is fumbling for words. He supposes that introductions are as safe a way as any to begin. “I am Thor-”

"You are Thor Odinson,” Loki pipes in; his voice sounds thin, and Thor wonders when was the last time he spoke. “You are the most decorated general in the emperor's army,” he goes on to say. “The Hammer of the Gods. The Stormbringer."

Thor chuckles at Loki's rote recall of his warrior epithets. "And how do you know all of that?”

Loki does not return his smile. "Slaves talk.”

"And that day at the baths, did you know who I was then?"

"I did, my lord."

Thor steps closer still. "And yet you stole from me?"

"Yes."

With a final stride, Thor closes the gap between them. "I could have you flogged. You know that," he tells him.

"Would you prefer to do it yourself, my lord?" The boy turns and presents his bare back to Thor. His milky, freckled skin is marred with shiny pinkish scars all over: some look as though the wounds were tended, others have healed badly.

Thor swallows, his throat feeling dry and tight. Though Loki is a slave with a sharp tongue (he probably earned a good deal of the scars on his back), it’s unsettling to see them nevertheless. “Nay; I am not in the mood for it.”

"Then, is there something I could do that would better suit your mood?" Loki is peeking at him over one shoulder now, a smile playing on his lips.

Loki is no longer the glaring, quiet, _biting_ boy he brought home. Thor runs a single finger down the back of Loki’s neck. “You seem- friendlier.”

“I can be _quite_ friendly, my lord.” Loki shifts and grazes his backside against Thor. “When others are friendly with me.”

"I see,” he says, leaning forward and pressing his body to Loki’s; their mere proximity makes Thor’s groin ache. He wraps an arm around Loki’s waist and lets his hand roam idly across Loki's chest before finally stopping to pinch one of the boy’s nipples between his thumb and index finger. “Show me how friendly you can be, Loki,” he murmurs against Loki’s thick, sweet-smelling hair.

Loki’s head dips down, a low, keening whine slips from his lips. “How?”

Thor slows his hand to a stop, then pulls Loki to stand and face him. He rubs the pad of his thumb along the full bottom lip he has coveted since he first saw it. "We could begin...with my cock buried in this pretty little mouth of yours."

“Yes, my lord,” Loki replies, smiling as he sinks to his knees.

While the boy arranges himself at his feet, Thor strips out of his tunic and goes to undo the thin leather strap of his undergarment - it knots in his clumsy fingers and, with a growl of frustration, he tries to rip the thing off.

“Allow me?”

Loki curves around and presses his mouth to Thor’s hip. There’s a mash of flicking tongue and biting teeth - as well as a few lines of saliva that drip down his thigh - and then Loki is pulling away. The leather tie now hangs loose against his leg.

“That- is a clever trick.”

“I have others.”

“I do not doubt it.”

Thor slips out of his underclothes and looks down at his exposed cock: thick, hard and already leaking at the slit.

Loki looks up at him, green eyes wide. “Hammer of the gods, indeed.”

Thor can’t help feel a bit smug about that. "I believe you were going to show me an example of your...amity?"

"I was, my lord."

“Then by all means,” Thor hisses out, "get to it." He takes the sides of Loki’s head in his large hands, rubbing his thumbs along his sharpish cheekbones, and pulls him forward.

Loki sets his mouth to Thor’s cock like he was born for nothing better, teasing it with wet kisses to the tip or dragging his small, pink tongue along the spine. By the time he finally, _finally_ , takes him into his mouth properly, he has Thor gasping for air, his toes curling into the animal pelt under his feet.

The slick heat of his mouth is exquisite, and as badly as he would like to toss his head back and give over to Loki’s lips and tongue and even teeth, Thor cannot bring himself to stop watching the way his cheeks hollow out, or how his lips stretch dark and pink around the girth of him. Loki can only take about half of his length, but it is thrilling that he keeps _trying_ to claim him entire.

And, then there are the sounds that Loki makes -- the lewd suck and pop when he pulls back too far and his cock slips from his lips, and the placated way he moans when he takes it down again.

It would be easy to let go, to fuck deep and hard into Loki’s pliant mouth until his seed spills forth and down that spasming throat, but Thor pulls out, leaving Loki tearing and soggy and gasping for breath.

Thor slides his arms around Loki and hoists him back to his feet. He reaches up, in between the boy's thighs, and tugs the loincloth free, then uses it to gently wipe at his sopping face. “You took it very well -- most can scarcely go past the head. In time, l will have you taking all of it down, down to your throat.”

Thor steps back and takes a look at Loki. From head to foot, he's the loveliest thing he's ever set eyes on. And so... _pink._ There's a bright flush that goes from his chest to his neck, and his knobby knees are ruddy from kneeling. Loki's body hair is scant, save for the nest of coarse-looking black pubic hair around his cock, slender and hard.

_And he is mine._

“Go over there-," he points at the large bed at the other end of the room, "bend over it and wait for me.”

Loki nods once, and does as he's told, his wiry frame swaying a bit along the way. He bends over the footboard and lets his upper body go loose while his legs stand firm on the floor. The pose may lack grace, but it does have other merits – the way his pert bottom now sits up in the air, for example, is _quite_ fetching.

Thor follows around to a small table near the head of the bed, and swipe a small phial of oil. He pulls the stopper and the scent of juniper wafts up from the bottle, reminding him of the nights he would stroke himself to roaring completion thinking of the scene that lays real before him now, fantasy made flesh.

He moves to stand behind Loki. "Spread your legs."

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Loki scoots his feet as far apart as the chain between them will allow.

"Very good," Thor runs a hand over the boy's arse, kneading the firm cheeks apart. He can see so much more of Loki this way, but the part that Thor cannot tear his eyes from is the small pucker of Loki's hole, clenching under his scrutiny.

"The quaestor touted you as a pleasure slave; I assume you've been breached before?"

"Yes, m-my lord."

Thor drizzles a line of oil over the damp crease of Loki's arse and presses his thumb to his hole, rubbing the pad over it until it slowly eases open, then slides the digit inside.

Ahead of him, Loki moans quietly.

Thor grins. "Do you enjoy that, boy? Do you want more?"

"Yes," the boy's breath hitches. "Please, my lord."

Thor pulls his thumb out, dragging a frustrated sound from Loki. "What a little whore you are, Loki," he says, not unkindly. "Already so greedy for my cock?"

"Yes," Loki replies, soft and supplicating.

It settles ill on Thor's ears. He doesn't want Loki to fight him, but he doesn't necessarily want him to come to heel so quickly, either. "And if I denied it? Would you beg?"

Loki twists to look back at him. "Would you have me beg, my lord?"

"I would have you be _Loki_!"

The quiet of the room all at once seems deafening. That was not something Thor had expected to say and, if the boy's wide-eyed look is any indication, nothing Loki expected to hear.

"Then," Loki says after a lengthy pause, "I would have you be Thor -- my lord and master. I would have you claim me, make me cry out, _make_ me beg. I would have you _fuck_ me until I spill my seed all over your fine linens and my legs can no longer hold me."

And with that, any and all pretense vanishes. If they both _want_ , then they both shall _have_. Thor rushes to slick his cock, but the phial is all at once too small in his rough, large hands, and he fumbles it, spilling oil everywhere before the tiny thing finally hits the floor.

"Fuck!" Thor kicks the bottle, sending it skittering across the tile, and Loki breaks into a chittering laugh that shakes his whole body. "Look at what you've made me do, Loki," he rasps.

"I do hope that _you_ will not spill so easily, my lord."

That earns the boy a couple of smacks to his rear, but considering the way Loki _oohs_ and _aahs_ and wiggles that round little arse to meet each strike, it isn't much of a punishment. Still, this Loki – sharp-tongue and all -- is the one he wants, the one that drives him to wild distraction.

Thor sets his fingers on Loki's arse and slides both thumbs into him, hooking them and gingerly easing him apart. The sight of his hole, oiled and open for him, sets Thor to drooling. He works up a fair amount of saliva in his mouth and spits it inside.

Loki pushes back against him, his bound hands clawing at empty air. “Yes...,” he gasps. "Do it- fuck me.”

Thor’s stomach rolls with want, and then he is on Loki, guiding the wide head of his cock to Loki’s hole and nudges until his muscles give enough way to let him in.

"No- give me all- all of it. All at once.”

Thor looks down at him, incredulous. He’s only _just_ felt Loki’s body give way to take in the head -- to plow into him now (no matter how badly his body might want to do _exactly_ that) would be...no, he won’t do it. So he ignores Loki’s reedy pleas and continues to press in slow, stretching him bit by bit.

Which is apparently not enough for his cheeky little slave -- Loki shoves back - hard and all at once, and Thor shouts as his entire length is suddenly enclasped in Loki’s tight, tight heat. “Lok- _-aah_!”

Loki, for his part, seems to be going through his own period of adjustment; his slim frame tenses and shudders against him, and Thor seriously considers (very, _very_ seriously) giving him a real spanking. The thought, however, is snuffed out when Loki’s channel spasms around him and Thor groans, tipping forward.

“That...was a dirty trick.”

“You said you would have me be Loki, and _Loki plays dirty tricks_. Now...punish me properly, like a lord and master ought.”

Thor smirks. He closes his fingers around the chain that links to the back of Loki’s collar and pulls. Loki’s back curves and the boy sobs, the planes of his shoulder blades shifting under his skin. Thor sets his free hand on Loki's waist.

"And if you come to heel, _as a slave ought_ , I will consider unlocking you." Thor gives the chain another yank -- it makes a surprisingly effective handle -- and rolls his hips, completely seating himself in Loki. "Well, boy? Will you heel?" He pulls back until only the flared head of his cock is buried in Loki's arse, then thrusts in again, full and hard, chains rattling with the effort.

The youth cries out again, a sob that crescendos into a wild moan. "Yes, m- _oh gods yes_! Fuck me, my lord!"

And Thor does. He starts with easing completely out of Loki and then shoving all the way in again (because the way Loki's arse chases after his cock is its own rich reward) but, before long, it feels too good inside Loki's hot, tight little body, and Thor ruts into him with hard, sharp thrusts.

At one point, Thor pulls the chain with a hair too much _enthusiasm_ , and when Loki makes a strangled grunt, he drops the links.

Loki flops back down the bed and makes an odd noise. In full voice, Thor imagines it would be a laugh, but as it is, it comes out a stuttered hiss. "Oh," he rasps, "just when things were beginning to get interesting."

 _Fine._ Thor pulls out completely and, amid Loki's spitting protests, scoops him up from behind and tosses him onto the bed. He climbs on and grapples with the boy's sweat-slicked body until his face and torso are pushed to the bed and his arse is high in the air.

"I have no desire to strangle my _investment_ , you little wretch." He plants one hand on Loki's hip, digging his fingers in for purchase and, with his free hand (it suddenly occurs to him that he doesn't have nearly enough hands to deal with Loki), Thor guides his cock back to Loki's hole and slides home.

Loki moans long and _loud_ into the bed. "Yes... _f-fu-uck_. Fuck me -- please, my lo- aah!"

"Call me by my name," Thor gasps.

"Nnngh..."

"Call me by my name," he says again. "Do it."

He fucks into Loki hard and deep, the wooden frame of his bed creaks worryingly under them. A stray piece of sweaty blond hair falls into his face and bats against his forehead; he tosses his head to flick it back and blinks the sweat from his eyes. He is close, and he needs,  _needs,_ to hear his name mixed in with the high, breathless sounds that Loki makes beneath him. "Say it..."

"Thor! Thor, Thor, Tho- oh _gods_!"

The youth's frame wracks against him, and Thor registers a wet heat soaking into the linens just before his own climax takes him hard, shuddering as he pumps his seed (by the gods, it feels like enough to populate a small village) deep into Loki.

Thor is still hard when he slowly eases out of Loki, cum spurting in fat splatters onto the boy's lower back. He climbs down from the bed and takes in the sight of a spent, slicked Loki twisted on his bed like a lewdly positioned rag doll. He pulls the key over his head and unlocks Loki's shackles.

Loki barely moves aside from the way his chest swells with the large pulls of air he takes in. Thor wonders how long he'd been chained like that before tonight.

"Loki?"

"Yes, Th- my lord?"

Thor considers teasing the boy about that little slip, but thinks better of it. Instead, he gathers the wrecked bedsheets and pulls them out from under Loki, twists them into a messy ball and tosses them into a corner.

For all his _talk_ moments ago, Loki has fallen quiet again; Thor might almost believe he's sleeping, if not for the way the boy tenses beside him when he slides onto the bed.

"I-where are the servants' quarters?" Loki asks. “I will sleep there, if my lord prefers...”

Thor huffs a small chuckle."You can barely move on your own, boy. I will have Frigga take you there in the morning. Sleep for now."

Loki nods. "Thank you."

Thor raises an eyebrow. “Gratitude, Loki? I did not think you capable.”

The boy shifts a little. “I am capable of a great many things, my lord.”

“Mmm,” Thor dares a move closer. Damp heat still hovers around them, and the breeze moving in from the high, open arches feels cool and sweet. The moment is...rather sweet, all told.

Something in Thor yearns to fold Loki into his arms, but he thinks better of it. Instead, he contents himself with watching the way the candles' light shines and flickers on Loki's skin, on his thick black hair like night sky, like onyx, and- and, all at once, Thor is reminded of the missing stones.

"Why did you steal them?" Thor asks.

The boy, whose body had begun to relax, goes rigid again, almost immediately. Thor drapes a bulky arm over him.

"Peace, Loki. I will not hurt you.”

In truth, Thor knows - _has known -_ since the moment he set eyes on him, that he never _could_ hurt Loki.

Loki loosens, a little, and heaves a sigh. Thor can feel the tiny gust of air against the hair on his forearm. "You were not unknown to me, my lord."

"As you said. Other slaves-"

"Only furthered tales of your prowess in battle, of your might and strength. But I had seen you before then, at the palace with the emperor. I was...intrigued.”

Thor uses his finger to trace over a smattering of pale freckles on Loki’s right shoulder. “How did you know where to find me?”

"The quaestor likes to take us out among the nobles -- to show us off and whet their appetites before the coming auction. He thought the exhibition match would be a fine day to trot us out. I watched you battle that day. And then, afterward--”

"You followed me."

He nods. "It is surprisingly easy to slip the quaestor's watch when his tongue is embedded in some nobleman's arse." Loki starts to laugh - a light, genuine one - and Thor can’t help join him.

"I had every intention of being there when you returned, but...I was eventually _missed._ The quaestor’s men found me, and- I took the stones. It was an impulse."

“But you still haven’t told me _why_.”

Loki twists in his hold, and Thor turns him over to face him. He looks up at him and blinks, long lashes fanning his cheeks. "Would you believe me if I told you I wanted something to remember you by?"

"Not for a second."

Loki runs his fingers over Thor's collarbone. "You’re learning."

Thor smiles. “Indeed, I am.”

“Well, if you want the truth-"

"I do."

"You _did_ say that you'd come after me if anything went missing. Perhaps I wanted to see if you'd be true to your word. Not that it matters; when the quaestor found them, he took them from me.”

“I did come after you. I searched for you -- the bathhouse, the marketplace...the brothels.”

“The quaestor was much stricter after my little excursion. I was rarely out of his sight, and when I was, I was chained.”

Thor suffers another pang of guilt. “You will never be put in chains again.”

The boy looks at him, lips pursed. “And why is that? Would you set me free?”

When Thor does not answer, Loki scoffs. “Do not trouble yourself over it, my lord. My lot could be worse.”

Then, before Thor can say something sentimental, Loki presses tight against him. "Mmm, yes. Far, _far_ worse," he purrs, tilting his head up to nip along Thor's jaw.

Despite their vigorous fucking earlier, Thor is hard in seconds, and instinctively kisses Loki, pushing his tongue into his hot mouth.

The boy's hands fly to his face, moaning and gasping. He slides one leg up until it drapes over Thor's hip and grinds against his thigh. "Fuck me again. Please," he hisses before diving back eagerly into their kiss.

Thor wants to- well, _everything._ He wants to touch Loki, to kiss him, to mark him with bites all over his body. He slides one hand into the boy's hair and tugs his head back to mouth at the skin over his throat, dragging his tongue along before scraping his teeth across the skin. His other hand (and again, he thinks that he would beg of the gods for at least two more) works down between their bodies to curl around Loki's length and stroke. When he thumbs over the wet slit, Loki shivers in his arms.

"Please," the boy begs again, bucking up hard.

It takes a bit of maneuvering - the boy's hands have skittered up into his hair, gripping tight to the roots, and refuse to let go - but Thor finally manages to twist them over until Loki is pressed firmly beneath him, his legs caging Thor on both sides. Loki is still loose and slick, and Thor makes his way inside with little effort, both of them grunting as they shift to adjust. He can feel his seed - still warm - squelch around his cock.

The sense of urgency is gone now, having burned off during their first coupling, and their sex feels hazy and soft around the edges. As he pushes in, face to face, Thor takes in all that he couldn't before -- the shine of Loki's eyes before they close, the round shape his mouth takes when he moans and calls out for _Thor_ , the sting of his ragged nails as they scratch down his broad back.

It is everything he has dreamed of since he first met Loki, now real and solid and _writhing_ beneath him.

Loki wraps his slim legs around Thor's waist and squeezes. For being so thin of frame, the boy is surprisingly strong. "Thor," he says, just short of growling, "stop _thinking_ about fucking me, and _fuck_ me."

"Are you giving _me_ orders, little slave?"

"I am...and I think you rather enjoy it," Loki replies, jerking his chin.

Thor thinks he does, a little. Not that he will ever admit that to Loki. He sits up on his knees. "I do enjoy a bed mate with spirit," he says, and wrestles with Loki's legs, prying them from around his middle, setting each one on a strong shoulder. He drives in again, hard and deep, and Loki throws his head back, letting out a long wail.

"Yes, like- just like that- I want to feel you in my skin _._ I want to _reek_ of you." Loki grasps onto Thor's forearms and digs in. "Ruin me for all others, Thor. Make me _yours._ "

Thor clasps his hands around Loki's slim thighs. "You- _are-_ mine," Thor reminds him, punctuating each word with a hard snap of his hips. "And I shall make you scream so loud that all of Rome will know it.

"So you say," Loki teases, albeit breathless. "And yet, I am not even moa- _ohh!_ "

"Enough!", Thor shouts. He is  _done_ with words. He bends low over Loki, all but folding the boy in half as he _fucks_ into him.

Somewhere at the back of Thor's mind, he realizes that while he may be the one on top, Loki is truly the master of this particular game. He knows what strings to pull, and precisely how hard, to goad Thor into giving him what wants.

Thor would try to deny him, to withhold what he seems to crave so desperately out of sheer spite, but he's abruptly too close to stop now. He comes with a loud grunt, hips pistoning and cock emptying into Loki again; dribbles of come seep out each time Thor pulls back and fucks in again.

Between them, Loki's own cock is straining hard - leaking slick on his stomach and smearing it around with every push. Thor raises up to take Loki in hand and jerk him off with quick, rough strokes.

"Yes, gods- yes!" Loki lets go of Thor's arms and pulls hard at his own hair. With each tug, his voice grows higher and louder until he's finally screaming, "I'm nearly there, don't- gods, just don't st--"

Loki makes a sound somewhere between a choked sob and a gasp, and Thor watches as Loki's cock spurts thick lines of seed that run down sluggish over his tight fist.

Thor stares at the spunk coating his fingers and, on impulse, pops two of them into his mouth, running his tongue over the digits. The taste is strange – bitter, salty, and _organic –_ and it leaves a vague tingling feeling in his mouth.

"Do you like the taste of me, my lord?"

Loki takes Thor's face in his hands pulls him down for a kiss; it's wet and sloppy and open, tongues licking at each other amidst warm exhales into each other's mouths. He ends the deep kiss, punctuating it with a comparatively chaste peck on the corner of Thor's mouth.

Thor huffs. He rolls off of Loki onto his back, chest heaving. "I do not dislike it," he answers.

Loki flips over onto his stomach and stretches his limbs, all supple and cat-like. He pillows his head on his folded arms and watches Thor with tired eyes. "What else do you like of me?"

"What a brat you are." Thor turns on his side to give Loki a solid smack on the backside, and the boy jumps. "I also rather like your arse."

Loki laughs and wags his bottom this way and that; if Thor wasn't so utterly _fucked out_ , he wouldn't hesitate to mount Loki again. But he _is_ fucked out, happily so, and his body is already beginning to feel heavy with sleep.

"What else?" the boy asks playfully.

Thor's chuckle morphs into a yawn. "Is this to be a fishing expedition?"

"Possibly. My lord? What did you think of me, that day at the bathhouse?" Loki's tone is different now. He almost sounds- worried.

"Impertinent," Thor says without hesitation. "Impertinent and contrary. And beautiful. Now come here, Loki."

The boy obeys; slides over and settles in, his back to Thor's chest. Thor immediately lays his hand on Loki's hip and holds him close.

"Cannot have you attempting to flee, now can I?" Thor gives up the struggle to keep his tired eyes open.

"I would not dream of it, my lord."

 _Not after all I did to get here_ , he thinks he hears Loki say as Somnus finally arrives to cradle him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> First: My sincerest apologies to [juukai](http://juukai.tumblr.com) for how late this is. It took longer than I'd anticipated to get my head around the idea and produce something that wasn't complete shlock. I hope you enjoy it at least a little?
> 
> Second: Immeasurable thanks to lovely [Diana](http://thorduna.tumblr.com) for putting me on the path of a workable story and being a wonderful, supportive beta when it was all written and done.
> 
> Third: I'm playing fast and loose with Roman history here, having gathered most of my information from Wikipedia, among other sites. So, if you're a scholar of teh ancient Roman timez, please don't be too hard on me.
> 
> ~
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://sexualthorientation.tumblr.com)


End file.
